


There's Something About Jane

by AvocadoLove



Category: Psych, The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane refuses to go to Santa Barbara, even though he seems to know everyone there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lisbon

**Author's Note:**

> This goes to show it’s a bad idea to watch The Mentalist when you’re having Psych withdrawals. (New season coming Feb 27th! FINALLY!). Based on the premise that Patrick Jane is actually an older, bitter (maybe broken?) Shawn Spencer.

Lisbon felt her team's eyes on her as she strode into the bullpen. "That was the interim chief of police in Santa Barbara," she said, tucking her cell phone back in her pocket. "They've got a triple homicide on the beach. I want to be on the road in ten."

As one, the team rose from their desks, straightened papers, and grabbed coats and keys. Lisbon turned to the only non-mover.

"Jane, you coming?"

Jane was laid out on the couch as usual, a Sudoku booklet over his head. He carefully scribbled a number down before answering. "I'm going to sit this one out, if it's the same to you."

It wasn't. She frowned. "Why?"

"Santa Barbara and I...don't get along."

"Your loss. It's got to be cooler by the coast." Van Pelt aimed a disgusted look at the vista outside. It was late July, and the current heatwave had the forecasters predicting another above hundred degree day. Lisbon could feel the heat pouring from the windows, despite the building's valiant attempts at air conditioning.

"All the more reason to stay inside," Jane said amicably.

Lisbon's frown deepened, but she'd long ago learned that trying to pry any information out of Patrick Jane when he didn't want to give it up was like trying to cup water in your hands. He'd probably scammed a lot of people in the area, or maybe it held memories of his murdered family.

"Okay," she said doubtfully and turned to leave.

"Oh, Lisbon?"

She stopped. "Yes?"

Jane sat up. The 24/7 amused smile was still on his face, but...was it her imagination, or did his eyes seem a bit strained? "You said interim police chief. They have a new one?"

"That's right." She glanced down at her phone. "A...Carlton Lassiter."

"I remember that," Risgby piped up. "It was in the state police newsletter. The previous one, Vick, retired last month. I met her once at a convention. Nice lady."

There was no doubt about it. The smile had slipped a little from Jane's face. "And Lassi--Lassiter called in an outside agency? On his own?"

"Do you know him?" Cho asked.

Jane's mouth quirked up. "We've met."

Definitely someone Jane had scammed before, Lisbon thought. "As a matter of fact, he did. Why?"

"Because he both hates and loves federal agencies. He admires  the power they supposedly represent and, frankly, the coolness factor," Jane replied with the smooth bluntness that charmed as well as irritated. "And he hates anyone coming into his territory. He doesn't like to share.  Or that's how he was. People change." He turned to Cho. "He'll be impressed by you most of all. Use that."

Cho raised his eyebrows, but didn't otherwise comment, reaching down to check his gun holster.

"It sounds like this was more than a casual acquaintance," Lisbon said. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Jane waved her off and settled back down on his couch. "I'm better use where I'm at. Don't have too much fun without me."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Lisbon was unsurprised to see Jane's assessment of Carlton Lassiter was right on the money. She'd had her share of police chiefs who didn't appreciate CBI's assistance before, but none of them had quite this rough 'Dirty Harry' quality about them.

Lassiter was the type who'd fit like a glove in a severe western. Not what she'd been expecting for a coastal college town.

And Jane was right. He was most obviously impressed by Cho. Lisbon caught him asking Cho about best cases, how many people he'd shot, ect, with the air of a fanboy. That Cho did his best to stoically ignore him only egged Lassiter on.

Oddly, when Lisbon dropped the name Patrick Jane, Lassiter gave her a puzzled look.

"Who?"

"He's a consultant with our agency. He thought you may have met at one point," Lisbon said.

"I don't know who--McNab!" Lassiter barked and a nearby handsome officer jumped in surprise. "I told you to keep the media out of here. One hundred-yard perimeter!" He strode away, waving his hand at a collection of news crews who were setting up just at the top of the next beach dune.

Odd, Lisbon thought, but then Van Pelt ran up to her with news of a fiber found on one of the bodies and all thoughts of Jane were pushed from her mind.


	2. Cho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to write this in loosely connected vignettes from each team member's POV.

 

"She's still in surgery," Van Pelt reported as she returned from the nurse's station.

"When will they know if she's going to be okay?" Rigsby asked.

Van Pelt shook her head and bit her lip.

Cho wanted to hit something. Specifically, the son of a bitch who shot his boss during a car jacking attempt on Lisbon's way home. Or, supposed car jacking attempt. Unmarked police cars looked fairly unassuming from far away, but were obvious up close. This felt more like a hit.

Cho's eyes locked with Rigsby's and he saw his own anger reflected there.

"I've tried to call Jane, but he's not picking up his phone," Rigsby said.

They all knew the reason. Jane always took a week of vacation around the anniversary of the day Red John killed his family.

"I'll--" Van Pelt started.

"No, I'll get him," Cho said. "You and Rigsby will try to soft-talk him in, and that won't work."

That earned him two offended looks, but no one argued.

"Call me if you get any news on Lisbon," Cho said, then made his way out.

 

* * *

 

Cho had never been to Jane's house. Well, never inside. He'd driven the consultant to and from work a few times when his car broke down, but Jane had never invited him in and Cho had never asked.

Jane's home was a pin-neat yellow house on the wrong side of Stockton boulevard. But as far as Cho knew, Jane never had any problems. Maybe he made friends with the neighbors. It would be like him.

Seeing Jane's car in the driveway out front, Cho parked and walked to the door to knock. No answer. He tried the knob out of habit more than anything else, but it slid easily under his fingers. Unlocked.

"Jane," Cho called, opening the door. His voice was lost in a wall of loud music -- something eighties. Danger Zone? He hadn't heard that song in years.

He stepped in and wrinkled his nose at the slightly stale air. Following the sound of the TV, Cho found the living room.

He thought he prepared himself for everything --except for what he ended up finding. Patrick Jane, out of his normal waistcoat and suit and in jeans and a T-shirt. Jane sat on his couch, a few liquor bottles and shot glasses spread in front of him. The TV was blaring Top Gun.

"Heeeey." Jane lolled his head around to look at him. "I wasn't expecting you here."

Cho hesitated, then brushed the comment aside. "You would if you answered your phone." Cho crossed the room to manually turn down the volume on the TV. Jane made a sound of protest, but Cho ignored him. "Get up. Lisbon's been shot. We need to go to the hospital, then find the man who did it."

Jane's eyes were... blank. Uncomprehending. Cho doubted he'd understood at all through his alcohol haze.

"Come on." Cho tried hauling Jane up under his arm, but the other man was loose, dead weight.

"Leave me alone, Gus," Cho thought he heard him slur, "Don't be the ribs that flipped over Fred Flintstone's car."

 _Gus?_ Cho had to take most of Jane's weight, but even then they barely made it to the kitchen without falling. He gently set Jane, still boneless, on the chair by the kitchen table. Jane put his head in his hands, and it almost sounded like he was chuckling softly. But Cho knew, with a horrible sinking in his gut, that Jane's shoulder's were shaking with sobs.

Maybe he should have brought Rigsby or Van Pelt along with him after all.

Uncomfortable, Cho hesitated on the verge of saying a number of stupid, meaningless things. What was "I'm sorry," to the man who had lost everything?

A simple tea kettle caught his eye and Cho turned towards it, relieved. It was a myth that caffeine sobered someone up, but it might help level Jane out some.

Jane lifted his head at the sound of the kettle's whistling. His face was blotchy, but there weren't any tear streaks. "Cho?" he asked, blearily.

"That's right." Cho wasn't really one for tea, but he figured the stronger the better. He poured the water in a cleanish looking cup and dunked three bags in. "Here," he said, dropping it in front of Jane. "Drink it and when you're feeling better, we can go."

"You've been at the hospital." Jane's eyes slid up and down Cho. That same, assessing gaze he used when he was reading someone. "You smell like antiseptic and you loosened your tie. You only do that when you don't want to be constrained. When you want to hurt someone, when you want to fight."

"No I don't. Drink your tea." Cho turned away on the pretext of closing the cabinet, but subtly checked the knot on his tie. It was loose. He didn't remember doing it.

He heard Jane make an amused noise behind him.

There was a picture frame on the end of the counter. The only one Cho had seen in the house. He picked it up without thinking. Jane was there, dressed in a ratty green polo and jeans. His arms were slung casually around the shoulders of two people Cho didn't know: a young visibly pregnant blonde woman, and a handsome black man about Jane's age. They all smiled at the camera.

"Jules," Jane murmured, his voice like sandpaper. "And Gus."

"These were the two who Red John--"

"Yes," Jane interrupted.  "And no, I don't want to talk about it."

  _Thank God._ Cho set down the picture with a mixture of relief and shame. At least Jane sounded a little more clear headed. Cho returned to the table and sat on the empty chair. "Lisbon was shot around ten o'clock late last night," he said because he didn't think Jane heard him last time. "She's alive, but in critical condition--" And he went into the pertinent details of the case.

Jane listened quietly, drinking his tea. If there was an expression on his face, Cho couldn't read it.

When Cho finished, Jane gave a long, long sigh, his shoulders slumping forward, and said, "She can't die today. Not today. It's not fair."

"Life's not fair," Cho said, "But no, I don't think we'll lose her. She's strong."

Jane nodded and stared sadly into his half-empty cup. Then Cho realized what exactly Jane said. Today was the day, then. The exact anniversary. No wonder Jane was a mess.

"I'm sorry." It came out just as flat and terrible as Cho feared it would. Awkwardly, he put his hand over Jane's.

Jane stared blankly at him for a moment. Then he snorted. "Good thing you're a cop. You'd make a terrible grief councilor."

"Sorry." Cho started to remove his hand, but Jane caught it.

"No, it's fine. Let me finish my tea...and you'll have to drive."

"Maybe change your clothes, too," Cho said.

Jane looked down at his t-shirt and jeans. His smile was lopsided, reminding Cho of the happy young man Jane had once been in the photograph. A funny feeling wiggled through Cho's chest, and he did his best to ignore it.

 "Yeah," Jane said. "That's a good idea."

 

* * *

  
 

If Jane was unusually quiet and still during the long hours in the waiting room, at least no one else commented on it. Cho purchased a packet of aspirin from one of the cafeteria vending machines. He slipped it to Jane when Rigsby was looking the other way, betting the consultant would be suffering a hangover headache. Judging by the brief appreciative glance Jane sent his way, he was right.

When an exhausted looking surgeon walked into the waiting room, Jane was the first of the team to reach him.

"There was a lot of bleeding," the doctor said, "But we were able eventually able to stop it and close the wound. I anticipate a full recovery."

Cho's heart unclenched, just a little bit. He wouldn't be one-hundred percent until he slapped cuffs on the person responsible, but his boss was going to be okay. It was a start.

"When can we see her?" Jane asked.

"She's resting now. You can speak to the nurses. They'll alert you when she wakes."

Judging by the look on Jane (and Van Pelt's) face, they weren't in the mood to wait. Chances were, Jane would charm his way past the nurse's station in ten minutes flat. Cho would bet Rigsby on how long it took, but he was tired of losing money.  

It was a good thing he didn't. The doctor hadn't so much as rounded the corner down the hall before Jane was trying his wiles on the head nurse.

Rigsby sidled up to Cho's side.

"How'd it go?"

"What?" Cho asked.

"You know." Rigsby jerked his chin at Jane.  

_Leave me alone, Gus..._

"How do you think it went?" Cho said shortly. What happened to Jane wasn't a secret, but the grief he saw felt too...personal to share.

Down the hall, the head nurse, openly smiling now, stepped aside to let Jane pass by.

"We're on," Cho said, and walked quickly to catch up. Time to see what, if anything, Lisbon remembered of her car jacking.

And, whatever else happened today, Cho was going to make sure Jane wasn't by himself.

 


End file.
